


A Time to Live

by EmZaWheezy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: 4e, Dark Sun, Eventual Romance, F/M, It's really just a fic set in dark sun, Like... only a tiny one, Minor Swearing, Original Character(s), Originally Posted Elsewhere, That might change in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmZaWheezy/pseuds/EmZaWheezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the freeing of Tyr, in the desert world of Athas, a young mul of the Tyrian Guard still obeys the lessons that helped him survive six years in the Brickyards. With the help of a kind shopkeeper, a frayed templar, a flippant guardswoman, and a beautiful young bard, he'll learn how to live, and not just survive. My first fanfic, but not my first time writing a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time to Live

The air was pleasantly cool just before the sunrise.   
Shops were being opened by a motley assortment of   
shopkeepers along the wide thoroughfare that was Caravan  
Street. They and their assistants swept, wiped down   
counters, and raised canopies over open shop fronts. They  
were the majority of people on the street at this hour;  
very few pedestrians were about. Those that were out were  
rather nondescript, for the most part.

There was one man worth noting, however. He was an   
intimidating figure, just over seven feet tall and well  
muscled. Scars laced his hands, and likely his arms, although  
they were not visible because of the long-sleeved cotton  
shirt he wore. He was bald, and each of his ears came to a   
short point, speaking of his half dwarven heritage. A long   
scar stretched from his left temple, over his brow,  
across his arching nose and to the right side of his jaw.   
The slight and unfriendly frown he wore completed the  
image, and strongly discouraged most from attempting to  
strike up a conversation with the rather scary looking man.

If someone were to take the time to really look at him,   
however, they would be surprised by his youth.  
His cheeks had not yet lost all their boyishness, and his face  
as a whole had an underdeveloped quality to it, as if it  
wasn't quite ready to take the final step from adolescence  
to adulthood yet. His eyes were an odd mixture of green  
and honeyed gold, giving them an odd, gentle somberness for   
someone so intimidating. 

He walked alone down the street, his booted feet   
hitting the firmly compacted dirt, with a soft  
thud accompanying each strike of the heel. The sun was still   
below the horizon, and he was nearly halfway to his destination.   
He was making good time, and so he let his mind wander. He liked it   
just before dawn, it was as quiet as the bustling city of Tyr   
ever got. He continued walking, passing someone sweeping the  
front of a shop

"Hey, kid, catch!"

Something flew towards him, and reflexively his left  
hand shot up from his side and caught it. He brought it  
up to chest level and inspected it quickly. It was a roll of  
fragrant brown bread, the top encrusted with little white seeds.   
Surprised at the gift, he looked up to see who had   
thrown it.

His attention was drawn to the shopkeeper he had been  
vaguely aware of moments before; he was grinning.   
Giving him a proper look now, the large man saw he was a  
short, stocky human in his middling years. He had ruddy   
cheeks and a brown scraggly beard. He had lively brown eyes    
that danced beneath bushy eyebrows,

"Mornin'," he said with a simple nod.

"Good morning," the big man responded, with a great  
deal more trepidation.

The shopkeeper leaned his broom against the wall  
behind him. He wiped one hand on his apron, and extended it  
to the big man, taking a step towards him.

"Name's Rickard, what's yours?" he said with a warm  
smile, pronouncing "Rickard" as "Rickerd".

The big man just stared at the offered hand, unsure as to   
what he was supposed to do with it. He looked into Rickard's   
friendly brown eyes, and after a moment, he slowly put his own hand   
out.

"Darus. My name's Darus," he said softly.

Rickard grabbed Darus's hand and shook it firmly,   
clapping his free hand over the top of both briefly before   
letting go.

"It's great to meet ya." he said, unperturbed by   
Darus's discomfort.

"You're in the Tyrian Guard, aren't ya?"

Darus shifted awkwardly, "I am," and he looked down at the  
roll in his hand, "Why did you give me this?" asked Darus   
suddenly, looking sharply from the roll to Rickard.

Rickard looked right back at him, his smile  now gone, replaced   
with something that Darus couldn't identify.  
After a long pause he opened his mouth and shut it again.

Thoughtfully, he started, "Every day, twice a day,  
you walk past my shop. Once in the mornin', going one way, and  
once in the evenin', goin' the other. Always alone.  
Always with the same 'don't mess with me' look on your  
face," he paused again, "and always with the same damn sadness  
in your eyes. Why?" without pause, he continued, his words  
flowing faster, "I see other guards. Groups a'em going to  
the bar, or where ever, after their shifts are over.

You're never with any of them. A young, healthy, not   
half bad lookin'," Darus's eyes widened at that, and he   
started to stammer, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, but  
Rickard glared at him, "What? It's true- ya got a roguish   
thing goin' on with that scar that girls'd love if ya   
weren't tryin' so hard ta scare 'em away," he said pointedly.

"As I was sayin', a young, healthy, not half bad lookin'  
man who has never, in the near about, oh, year I've   
been seenin' him walk by my shop, gone out with friends. Not once!"

By that point he was almost shouting, although his  
expression hadn't really changed. Darus flinched and took a   
step back, looking away.

"I saw a young, healthy, and deeply lonely man.  
One suspicious of kindness, and unused to compliments. I've  
seen that every day, and today I decided to try and change   
that. That's why I gave ya the roll," Rickard finished, his voice   
soft and inviting.

Darus looked back to Rickard.

"I'm sorry. I am not used to kindness from freem- from   
other races," he stammered.

Understanding filled Rickard's eyes.

"You were a slave." It wasn't a question. 

He really should have guessed that; there hadn't been many free mul before.

Darus nodded, and looked away, ashamed at his past.  
He felt a hand on his arm, and looked back, surprised.  
Rickard had placed his hand there, too short to put it on   
Darus's shoulder.

"Kid, I wantchya to know three things. Number one, " he said, counting  
off on his fingers, "not everyone who's been free their whole life is a bigot.  
I ain't, and others of us are good people too. Number two,  
you're young, and free, you should live like it. Number   
three, everyone needs friends, and I do mean everyone.   
Do you have any?"

He looked deep into Darus's eyes, speaking quietly  
but with great meaning.

Darus stood still. Did he? He worked with the same two people   
every day, but he had never gotten to know either of them. Not that   
they hadn't tried, asking him to go out with them after their   
shift, or even just trying to start up a conversation with him,   
early on. He hadn't trusted it, so he had turned them down, and  
shut down every conversation. Eventually they had stopped trying.

It hadn't bothered him until now.

It had actually been a relief when they had stopped trying to befriend him.   
If he had learned anything in the Brickyards, it was   
that people were temporary, and it was best to live without relying  
on anyone but yourself.

He looked into Rickard's eyes. He was almost a total   
stranger, but he had been so kind. Of course, it was only a roll, but  
a roll was more kindness than he had ever been given in the  
Brickyard. Could he call Rickard a friend?

Brown eyes. Warmth, honesty, concern.

Slowly a smile crept onto Darus's face. It was weak,  
and felt strange, but it was there. Rickard returned the   
smile encouragingly.

"I think I have at least one, now. Maybe a few more,  
if I try, and it isn't too late."

Rickard grinned broadly, and squeezed his arm.

"I'm glad, Darus," he said, picked up the broom from where  
he had leaned it against the wall, and started sweeping  
again.

"Now go, and live," he told Darus with a wave.

Darus nodded thoughtfully, turned, and started walking   
again. This time, a little different.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't noticed,  
> there are/will be/might be  
> some kind-of-divergences  
> from the world/story canon when it  
> comes to the time line and such. I've  
> read the Prism Pentad books by  
> the wonderful Troy Denning, but  
> I'm not going by the timelines and canon  
> set out in those books, or any of the other  
> setting-specific books.
> 
> Rather shamefully, in fact, I'm just  
> using the 4e (don't shoot me, previous edition elitists)  
> Dark Sun Campaign Setting book,  
> and a little online research.  
> So there was a lot of room for my imagination  
> to run free on how the setting works, because  
> the setting book leaves a lot of room  
> for the user to make up stuff. Then  
> again, D&D encourages the tweaking of canon  
> to suit the individual user's needs.
> 
> Disclaimer: D&D and the Dark Sun  
> Campaign Setting don't belong to me,  
> obviously.


End file.
